


Dynamic

by Susanthebeta



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Beta Wanted, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Multi, Omega John Watson, Omega Verse, Virgin Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-21 13:30:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/598295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Susanthebeta/pseuds/Susanthebeta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After touching a mad-scientist’s multiverse machine, an unsuspecting John Watson finds himself in a world full of people called alphas, omegas, and betas. He’s an omega in an unexpected heat without an alpha. Sherlock and Lestrade try their best to help their confused friend.</p><p>A new twist on the treatment of an omega in his first heat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Omega/Beta/Alpha Dynamic – A Very Complicated Discussion: There has been much theory and speculation on the interwebs of whether or not betas can knot. Many have postulated that there are physical differences such as to create six physically individualized sexes. I have decided to follow a little closer to the canine biology in which there are only two sexes, but social dynamics, the environment and personal preferences determine an individual’s position.
> 
> And boys can conceive.

Inspector Lestrade closed a manila file and pushed his chair under his desk. He cleared his throat and scanned the office.

Everyone from the day shift had gone home already, and a vacuum was echoing its approach from down the corridor.

He stood, pulled his coat off of the rack that was behind his desk and turned to leave. ‘Jesus Christ! Sherlock, where the bloody hell did you come from?’

Tall and dramatic as ever with his coat collar and scarf pulled tight around his neck, self-titled consultant detective Sherlock Holmes glared at Lestrade. ‘I need you need to answer my questions directly and quickly. You’re a beta correct? And your wife is an omega?’

Lestrade perked an eyebrow and straightened his back. ‘Right. Not that it’s any of your busi- ‘

‘No, no. Shut up. Don’t deviate. She’s not bonded to you, though, is she? Not anymore.’ 

‘Well, I thought we were bonded. Guess that’s what I get for marrying for love,’ Lestrade moaned and rolled his eyes. ‘What are you going on about?’

Ignoring Lestade, Holmes continued, ‘Yes, but you were bonded for several years. You, a beta, successfully mated with an omega, well at least for a time, correct?’

‘Yes, Sherlock. Now would you please ex – ’

‘John’s in heat,’ Sherlock interrupted. ‘His first if I’m not mistaken.’ Holmes allowed a pause indicating to Lestrade that he should speak.

‘I see. And what does this have to do – ‘

‘John does not have an alpha.’

‘Right. He mentioned that he preferred not to commit to a relationship. I assumed he was taking hormone treatments.’

‘Correct on all counts, but for some reason he has not taken any of his medication for four weeks. When I saw the signs, I confronted him.’

Lestrade shifted his weight as he stood. ‘That doesn’t make sense. No one triggers a heat without having a bond mate. He might as well have put up an advert in the London Times to be taken forcefully. He could be _killed_ , Sherlock.’

‘Yes, indeed. That is why I have him locked in our flat as we speak. Mycroft was kind enough to lend a dozen men to watch the block. I cannot at this time answer the “why” in this scenario, but – ’

Leaning forward, Lestrade put his hands on the desk and rested his weight. ‘Are you asking me what I think you are?’

‘John was adamant. He did not want a bond mate, and he did not want to experience a heat. If I were to find an alpha for him – ‘

‘He’d have no choice. He’d be bonded for life.’

‘I am powerless now to prevent his heat, but I can control if he bonds.’

‘Jesus, you _are_ asking what I thought.’

‘I don’t trust anyone else, and you have experience with heats. You can help me keep him from bonding. Please, Lestrade, I’ve never asked you for a personal favor before.’ Sherlock gave him a desperate look. There was no mask of ego, not the usual smug self-satisfaction on his face.

Lestrade signed noisily. ‘Bloody hell.’

‘The cab’s waiting outside.’ Sherlock made an about-face and used his long legs to bound across the office.

Lestrade hurried to catch up. ‘No, no.’

Sherlock turned back to glare at Lestrade. 

‘My car,’ Lestrade explained. ‘I’ll put on the lights and sirens.’

Sherlock’s face cracked into something resembling a smile, and he followed Lestrade to the garage.

A very short time later, Lestrade pulled in front of 221 Baker Street. He noticed several large men in suits loitering on the sidewalks. An odd occurrence in this neighborhood, he thought, and then remembered that Mycroft Holmes was providing security. The moment the car door opened, and they both stepped out, Lestrade was hit with the overwhelming scent of an omega deep in the throes of an unsatisfied heat. Even as a beta, Lestrade felt an instant and heady arousal. He was suddenly very concerned that there were not enough of Mycroft’s men to protect John.

John’s odor was a beacon to all healthy, adult, alphas and betas, which was the exact reason that most newly-mating pairs fled to the countryside. Any omega valuing his or her safety planned for the heat. For John to allow his heat to come on without seeking a mate or any kind of protection did not make sense.

Sherlock leapt to the door. A red sign with black lettering warned, ‘DO NOT ENTER’, and Sherlock had drilled three padlocks into the door and frame, and it was taking him several moments to unlock each one.

Lestrade took that opportunity to say, ‘Look, Sherlock, you know this sort of thing is usually done with three or four people.’

Sherlock replied quickly, ‘There is no one else.’

‘There is always someone else you can ask.’

‘That is not an option. I won’t – I cannot allow it.’

Lestrade turned his attention toward shouting down the street. Two of Mycroft’s men had a yelling man pressed down onto the street, surely a desperate suitor who’d become overwhelmed by John’s scent.

‘Fine, but you should know that he’ll be more likely to bond with one of us. The more people, the less likely that will happen. It would be safer with one more person. Maybe your brother could – ’

Sherlock succeeded in unlocking the final padlock and gave Lestrade a harsh look. ‘John is my dearest friend, and I do not trust anyone else with his well-being. I quite comprehend the consequences, and if he were to bond with anyone, I would prefer it to be you.’

‘I’ll take that as a complement.’

‘Not at all. You’ve already proven that you cannot keep a bond with an omega.’ He pushed the door open finally.

The comment stung, but Lestrade laughed. Sherlock’s logic was flawless.

Once inside, Sherlock proceeded to barricade them behind another set of padlocks. The air inside was stale and thick with John’s scent. ‘Christ, how long has he been in heat?’

‘Three days.’

‘Three days! He should have been hospitalized by now. Why on Earth did you wait so long?’

‘I’ve spent the past two days trying to understand why he’s allowed this to happen.’ Sherlock snapped the final padlock into place.

It was a good thing Lestrade did not have anything planned for the next week. He could take a few personal days that he had coming to help John Watson through his difficult time.

Sherlock continued, ‘I will exhaust every option I have available before I hand John over to someone else. I assure you, I have more interest in keeping John safe than anyone else.’

‘Of that, I’ve no doubt.’

There was a rustling sound from above, and then John made his appearance at the top of the stairs. ‘Sherlock, you’re back! Oh, Lestrade, thank God! Lestrade, you have to help!’ John leaned heavily on the wall and rail. ‘Sherlock’s gone mad!’

Sherlock and Lestrade hurried up the stairs as John looked close to losing his balance and falling down the flight of stairs.

‘You have to help me, please! Sherlock’s gone mad, and he won’t let me out. He’s not making any sense, please, Lestrade.’ As Lestrade and Sherlock took John in their arms and led him back to the living room, Lestrade could see how the heat had taken its toll. John was drenched in sweat, he was barely able to support his own weight as he walked, and his breathing was rapid and irregular. They helped him to sit on the couch, and he continued his begging to Lestrade. ‘I’ve been sick, and Sherlock has me locked up. I’m so hot, and he nailed the windows shut! You have to talk some sense into him. Help me get out of here.’

Lestrade reached out and felt John’s skin on his arm and cheek. ‘What is Sherlock saying that isn’t making sense?’ He crouched to level his face with John’s.

Sherlock was slowly removing his coat and scarf at the coat rack by the door, listening.

‘I’ve got a fever. I know that. Sherlock says it’s a “heat”, like I’m some kind of dog or something. He showed me a prescription, hormones with my name on them. He says I should have been taking them every day. I’ve never seen them before. I don’t take hormones; I don’t need to! I – I don’t know what he’s on about, but I need to see a doctor. It’s getting worse.’

Lestrade perked an eyebrow. ‘Sherlock, would you get him a glass of water? Go on, John.’

‘Nothing makes sense. People are acting different. Things aren’t right.’

‘What things aren’t right?’ Lestrade pressed.

John took the glass of water Sherlock offered, but did not drink from it. ‘The telly’s not right. All this talk about alphas and omegas. You’d think the world was filled with wolf packs and not people. I don’t – I don’t,’ John stumbled with his words.

‘Here,’ Lestrade pushed at the glass of water in John’s hand. ‘Drink some water. It’ll help. When did things start to not make sense?’

Swallowing, John said breathlessly, ‘Two weeks ago. Sherlock and I were coming back to the flat. We were taking a cab back after talking to you at the station about Dr. Fielding’s trans-matter ray.’

‘I remember. The man was insane. He thought he’d built a machine that could transport people through time,’ recalled Lestrade.

‘No. He was wrong. All his machine was doing was killing people,’ corrected Sherlock. ‘They slowly died from radiation poisoning, and he quickly ran out of volunteers. We were investigating the mysterious illnesses and deaths when we encountered him and his machine. And it wasn’t a time machine; it was a dimension jumping machine.’

‘Right,’ agreed John. ‘We were on a cab home, and there was an advert in the cab. It was an alpha-omega dating service. Ever since then, everyone has been on about alphas, omegas, and heats. Sherlock’s gone mad. He kept asking who my alpha is; who my bond-mate is. I broke up with my girlfriend last month. I don’t know what he means.’

Rather than argue with John, who was clearly delusional, Lestrade stood and indicated to Sherlock with a look that he wanted to speak in private. ‘I’m going to have a quick word with Sherlock, John. Drink that water in the meantime. We are going to be in the hall.’

John’s voice cracked as he shouted, ‘So you can talk about how crazy I am? I’m not the crazy one!’

Lestrade sighed, stood and led Sherlock back to the stairs. In a hushed voice, Lestrade asked, ‘Do you think there is anything to Fielding’s machine? Where there any other victims who acted like this?’

‘Our encounter with Fielding seems to be the origin of John’s behavior. The machine was destroyed, so I have no way of studying it. Perhaps it did work, and this is a John from a parallel universe.’

‘More’s likely that it gave him a shock, and now he has brain damage,’ Lestrade sighed.

‘I’ve exhausted every theory as to what has caused him to act like this,’ growled Sherlock.

‘And now we’re down to his heat, and he has no bond-mate,’ confirmed Lestrade.

‘Lestrade, we cannot delay him anymore. I . . .’ Sherlock started but paused. ‘John is friend, and I do not want to force this on him, but I also cannot let him suffer anymore. We must act.’

‘Have you ever mated, Sherlock?’ It was an extremely personal question, and Lestrade would never have asked it except in this very circumstance.

Sherlock avoided Lestrade’s gaze. ‘That is why I asked you here. I never expected to mate with an omega. I’m a beta, so the contingency plan never crossed my mind. It would have been superfluous. Lestrade, I need you to help me with this. To help John.’

Lestrade took in a deep breath. ‘Alright, but,’ he raised his index finger, ‘I’ll need you to follow my lead on this. You need to do exactly as I say. We’re toeing the line between helping a friend and taking advantage. You have to do as I say,’ he reiterated. ‘I’ve never seen anyone in a state like this. Once we start, we cannot stop, and John is going to fight us on this, I can see that now. We have to talk him through it and explain what is going on.’

‘Right. I’ll follow your lead. Whatever you say, as long as it is what is best for John,’ Sherlock agreed.

They walked back to John’s side. John was near tears, and Lestrade kneeled in front of him again.

‘John, I need to ask you just a few more questions. Did your parents ever talk about having you bond with someone when you were entering puberty? Did they discuss what it would be like to live as an omega?’

Wiping at his face, John shook his head. ‘What for? That doesn’t make any sense.’

Sexual orientation was an extremely private matter, and the only people who would have discussed this with John would have been his parents. John was in for a shock if he did not know what it was to be an omega.

‘Alright, John. Sherlock and I have discussed this, and you have a choice in your treatment. We can take you somewhere where they can care for you.’

At that John looked hopeful, and Sherlock gritted his teeth and forced his hands behind his back.

‘They would be strangers, and they would not take the care that Sherlock and I would.’

John balked at this. ‘Mating! You mean the treatment is to have sex. I’m a doctor. Never have I come across sex as the cure for a bloody fever!’ He stood and paced the living room. He tired quickly and leaned forward on the fireplace.

Lestrade and Sherlock slowly made their way to him, careful not to crowd him too much.

‘In this case, that is the only treatment. Sherlock has you locked up because if he were to let you out onto the street, any and every alpha would fight for you and take you. I’ve seen what happens when an omega is taken in a mating frenzy like that. They usually end up traumatized with perforated organs, or dead if they are lucky.’

‘John, this is the only way,’ Sherlock said with an unusually deep and tired voice.

John let out a sob.

‘Here, let’s sit down,’ Lestrade offered a hand to help John back to the couch.

John sniffled. ‘What would be my treatment if I asked to go to Bart’s?’ He sat on the couch and looked up to see what Sherlock’s reply would be.

Sherlock stiffened and looked away making it obvious that he did not want John to pick that as his option.

Lestrade explained, ‘You would have two options of treatment at the hospital if you were conscious and could express your wishes. The first would be a lottery. This late in your, uh, condition,’ Lestrade was careful not to say ‘heat’, ‘they would not give you an option of declining the person who won the lottery. It could be a man or a woman. They would have intercourse with you several times over the next two or three days until your fever broke and you were well again. This person would be bonded to you for life. Of course you could decide that you did not want to be bonded to them, but your body would be biologically set to see them as your life partner. It would change your life and not in any way that you would have control.’

John was looking distant as though he did not believe what Lestrade was explaining was true. ‘You said there were two options.’

‘The second is perhaps the lesser of the two evils,’ Sherlock said. He was looking intently at the smiling yellow face painted onto the wallpaper with his hands squeezing one another behind his back. ‘A multitude of beta volunteers would take you for days until your heat was over. You’re unlikely to bond with one of them, so once your fever was over, you’d still have control over your life.’

‘True, but you’d likely spend a week or so in hospital recuperating,’ said Lestrade with a frown.

Sherlock turned sharply and looked down at John. ‘But you’d have your life back. If you bond now, even out of desperation, you’d be linked to that person forever.’

John was silent and carried a look of dejection. Not looking anywhere particular he asked, ‘Lestrade, I’m going to think of you as the neutral party here.’ He blinked, and tears fell down his cheeks. ‘What do you think I should do?’

‘I think going to a clinic or hospital is the least appealing option for you. Sherlock and I _will_ take care of you, but if you know of someone else you’d like to do this with, you need to tell us right now. You’re very short on time.’

John nodded and wrung his hands. ‘What exactly,’ he swallowed and looked up at Sherlock, ‘would you . . ?’ he blinked rapidly. ‘You’d be having sex with me?’ No one made an answer. ‘Not just touching penises kind of sex, is it?’ he asked with a forced laugh. His breath hitched, and he was close to breaking down. He wiped at his face.

With his gentle witness-interrogation tone, Lestrade said, ‘John, can I ask you something? I know you’re covered in sweat, but are you wet? Is there a lot of fluid, ah, between your legs?’

John did start to cry and he buried his face in his hands.

‘Your body has made itself ready to take a mate, John,’ Sherlock explained. He paced to the fireplace and stared at the skull on the mantle.

As a doctor, Lestrade thought John would understand basic biological mating responses. Alphas and omegas were known to become disoriented during a heat, but this was something else. Maybe there was something to Sherlock’s parallel dimension theory. All thought on the subject left Lestrade as John fell forward and collapsed into his arms. ‘Sherlock!’ he exclaimed.

Sherlock was next to him in a second and took the majority of John’s weight. 

‘Help me get him to the floor,’ gasped Lestrade. They laid John’s limp, unconscious body supine on the rug. ‘He’s burning up. We need to be quick about this.’

‘You wanted to talk,’ grumbled Sherlock.

‘Shut it, and help me move the furniture out of the way.’ Chairs and books were pushed haphazardly to the walls. Lestrade kicked off his shoes as to not step harshly on John accidently. ‘Alright, we need to get him undressed.’ Carefully Lestrade pulled John’s damp t-shirt up and over his head.

‘Careful of his head,’ bemoaned Sherlock.

‘Just get his pants.’

Sherlock made slow work of unzipping and pulling down John’s pants.

‘It’s a little late for that now. Just get him undressed. Take your pants off while you’re at it.’

Sherlock froze. ‘I thought you would go first.’

‘Oh, no, no. If John is going to accidently bond with one of us, it is definitely not going to be me. You need to be his first.’ As Sherlock hesitantly unfastened his pants, Lestrade assured him, ‘I’ll be here the whole time. I’ll help you both through it and I’ll do what I can to keep everyone from bonding.’

The look Sherlock gave him made Lestrade think of himself at the age of nineteen when his girlfriend, and later his wife, told him that she was in heat and needed him. It was a look of pure youth and inexperience.

Seeing Sherlock without clothes was not something he’d really taken into consideration. Too late for thoughts of modesty, Lestrade swallowed and took a position at John’s head.

John’s face was gripped with the sweat of the heat, but he was finally calm and relaxed.

Lestrade took both of John’s wrists and pressed his weight on top of them. John’s head rested on the pillow their arms made. In this position, John would be physically unable to sit up or take a swing at Sherlock’s face.

Sherlock finally knelt with his long white limbs surrounding John. ‘Should – should we wake him first?’

‘Oh, he’ll wake up, don’t worry about that.’

John’s scent was intoxicating, and it certainly urged on Sherlock’s arousal as he positioned himself between his legs. Sherlock swallowed and rested his head on John’s collar bone.

‘This is going to hurt him. There is not getting around that, and he’s going to fight us. You’ve got to follow through, Sherlock.’

Sherlock nodded at Lestrade’s words, but his arms shook under his weight. He looked down John’s white chest and the valleys of lightly colored hair. Slowly he moved his hand down past Lestrade’s line of vision down to the source of John’s scent. His fingers made slick, wet noises as they explored the place where both men would eventually take John.

John began to stir and then moaned as he felt Sherlock there. ‘Mmmh, no, no.’

No longer gently exploring with his hand, Sherlock gathered one of John’s thighs to his hip and held him firmly.

John tried to fight, but his muscles were weakened by the hormones raging through his body, and the two men were much stronger than John despite his military training.

‘John? John? I need you to look up at me,’ urged Lestrade.

John panted and tried to lift his head to see what Sherlock was about to do between his legs. ‘No, no, no, please! No, Sherlock! No, no, no!’ His voice was slow and delayed. He was in the most taxing stage of his unsatisfied heat before he’d slip into a more permanent state of unconsciousness. His cries were sharp and pitiful. ‘Bloody hell, no, you can’t do this, please. No, no, no! God! Shit, please! Fuck, fuck _don’t!_ ’ The last word went up sharply, and Lestrade knew he’d finally been penetrated.

He pulled both of John’s wrists into one hand and pressed John’s head back down with the other.

John tried desperately to pull and push with his arms. ‘Nuuhh, no, no, ah, ah! Ow, ow, Sher – ow, ahhh, ow! Nuh, ouch, ow, ow, you’re hurting, ahhh!’ His free leg thrashed.

‘Shit, Sherlock, just – ‘

‘I’m trying!’ Sherlock shouted. ‘I’m sorry, ‘m sorry!’

Lestrade tried to sooth John as best he could and his petted at John’s hair. ‘Shh, shh, it’s just pressure. Just try and relax. Easy, easy, easy, now, John. You’re doing great.’

John was sobbing and screaming as loud as his diminished voice could.

Sherlock stopped.

‘Sherlock,’ Lestrade urged.

Sherlock shook his head, still buried into John’s chest. ‘He’s too tight. I’m just hurting him.’

John whimpered.

‘I can’t. This isn’t going to work. I can’t if he’s hurting like this.’

‘Bite him,’ Lestrade offered.

Sherlock lifted his head. ‘What?’

‘You have to act as though you’re his alpha. You have to take him. He’s your omega now. Bite him, mark him. Let him know that he’s yours, Sherlock. It’s just like in the movies.’ Lestrade allowed one of John’s arms to slip free.

John immediately pushed and scratched at Sherlock.

It was enough of a shock to convince Sherlock to do as Lestrade told him. He grabbed John hard and bit at his neck. His hips started again as John moaned and swat weakly at Sherlock’s big head.

‘Fuck! I can’t! Don’t, please!’ whined John.

Sherlock pressed on. He hiked John’s thigh up for a moment, grunted, and then was still as he ejaculated.

John panted. There was almost an instant improvement in his color and temperature. He slumped in Sherlock’s grasp, and the tension in his arm relaxed against Lestrade’s pressure. ‘ . . . bloody hurts . . . ’ John moaned among a few other grumbles that neither Lestrade nor Sherlock could make out.

Lestrade patted at John’s hair.

‘ . . . fucking heavy,’ he continued and then much more clearly, ‘Get off, Sherlock! Off!’ With his hands free, John pushed hard at Sherlock’s shoulders as his mind recovered some of its clarity. He pressed at Sherlock’s hips with his feet.

‘Ow!’ John and Sherlock exclaimed at once.

‘Be still, John!’ Lestrade urged.

‘Get off, you’re hurting me!’ John continued.

Sherlock squeezed himself to John’s body as tightly as he could.

‘Stop it, John! You’re knotted together. You have to wait for the swelling to go down before – No! Hold still, John!’ tried Lestrade again. ‘I know this is uncomfortable, but you need to be still.’ Lestrade gathered John’s wrists again, and he finally stopped thrashing.

John panted and seemed to give up the fight. Sherlock stiffened above him again and grunted. John raised his eyebrows as he realized that Sherlock had just ejaculated for a second time. ‘Oh God, that just happened. Lestrade!’ he hollered loud enough to be heard in the next room.

‘Yes, I’m right here.’

‘Mmmuhh,’ John growled. ‘Tell him to get off!’

Lestrade smoothed at John’s blonde hair. He was obviously still coming out of the haze of his heat. ‘Sherlock can get off as soon as the swelling goes down. Sherlock’s knot has to go down a bit before he can pull out. You need to stay still and relax for a few minutes. Sherlock?’ Lestrade looked to his friend.

‘Yes?’ he panted.

‘Will you be alright for a moment? John, be still. I’ll be right back.’

Sherlock and John were left entangled on the rug while Lestrade fetched a wet cloth from the kitchen. He returned and knelled back down at his spot next to John’s head. He brushed the cloth across John’s brow and neck.

John was already beginning to cool down, but the cloth felt incredibly good. His lips were dry and parched from his heat and his yelling, and he sighed as the cloth passed over his face several times. He looked up and back toward Lestrade and gave him his look of thanks.

Sherlock moaned again. After this third orgasm, his member began to loosen its hold inside John’s body. He also reached to touch John’s cheek. ‘John, are you alright? I know that it hurt.’

John slumped and rested his head on Lestrade’s thigh. He really didn’t know how to answer that question.

‘You’re looking much better, John,’ offered Lestrade. He brushed the cloth across one side of John’s neck and then slowly over the other at the bite mark.

John winced. ‘Ouch. Why the hell did you tell him to bite me?’

Lestrade and Sherlock shared a look. Biting during mating was commonly understood to be a biological imperative. It released endorphins, stimulated ovulation, and triggered the omega into a submissive and receptive state. Everyone knew that. Entire television networks were dedicated to angsty teenage love where every episode revolved around ‘will they or won’t they bite?’

Sherlock reposition himself above John and propped himself up on his elbows. ‘John, I think I can move now, but you need to stay still. Just let me pull out.’

Lestrade gathered John’s hands again just to be sure.

‘Ow!’ John exclaimed. He squeezed Lestrade’s hands.

Sherlock winced. ‘I know. Sorry.’

‘Just give it more time, Sherlock. You’ll only make him hurt,’ reasoned Lestrade.

‘I can pull out. Just keep him still for a moment. Steady, John.’ Sherlock jerked.

John immediately groaned and tried to roll to his side. He was caught by Lestrade’s hold on his hands, and his legs tangled around Sherlock. ‘Bloody hell,’ he sighed.

Sherlock moved down between John’s legs and clutched his member with trembling hands.

‘Here.’ Lestrade handed Sherlock the cloth he’d used to cool John.

After the initial sharp pain of Sherlock pulling out of him, John felt immediate throbbing at the abused ring of flesh. His muscles spasmed at the sensation of emptiness after being thoroughly stretched. His arms, legs and stomach ached from unreleased lactic acid. His mind, on the other hand, could not get passed his confusion. The two men he trusted the most in the world had just raped him. ‘Please let go now, Lestrade.’ He tested at Lestrade’s hold on his hands.

‘Just another moment. We’re going to help you go lay down in the bed in just a few,’ assured Lestrade.

‘I’ve never formed a knot before,’ noted Sherlock. His voice was dry.

Lestrade explained, ‘Most betas never do unless they’re with an omega in heat. It’ll be bigger next time.’

After cleaning himself, Sherlock pulled at John’s ankles to straighten him on the floor again. 

He watched as Sherlock leaned down and poked his head between his legs. ‘God, give it a rest! Please don’t,’ he pleaded, but Sherlock did not touch him again. He simply kept his head down between his legs.

Finally he sat up and looked to Lestrade above John’s head. ‘I,’ he sighed, ‘I don’t think it’s right. He still smells the same. I don’t think that he’s been receptive to me.’

Lestrade finally let John’s hands out of his and helped him roll to his side on the floor. ‘No, Sherlock. He smells like you now. That’ll discourage a good half of the alpha population who’s ready to break down your door. You knew that this would take time.’

Sherlock shook his head. ‘No, no. I can’t risk him. I won’t. This isn’t working, and we’re going to end up getting him killed. We need to get him to hospital.’

John perked up to listen to the conversation. They were both mad, but maybe they were finally willing to let him go.

‘Fine, fine,’ said Lestrade. ‘I agree. But I think we need to give it a better try than that. You want to avoid bonding and traumatizing him. For now, this is still the best way. His temperature is down, so he has been receptive. His body just hasn’t accepted you. Sometimes it takes a few tries. That’s why heats last for days, not an hour.’

Sherlock finally nodded. 

‘The final decision is up to John, though,’ Lestrade said. They both looked down at John. ‘Any time you want to see a doctor, John, just say so. I’ve got the car. I’ll drive you there myself.’

John blinked at them incredulously. ‘And if I want to leave the flat and sort this out myself?’

Sherlock answered, ‘You will be taken immediately by any alpha who can keep you for more than two minutes. Even if you were a hundred miles from anyone, you would eventually weaken so severally that you would slip into unconsciousness.’

John lay on the floor, hurt, confused and frustrated. And naked . . . and wet. He rolled onto his stomach and pushed on his arms to get up. His arms gave out, and he fell back onto the floor.

Lestrade and Sherlock were at either side immediately and helped him to stand on his feet. 

He could not keep his knees from buckling so he held onto Lestrade and Sherlock. John could immediately feel the fluid stream down his inner thigh as they walked him toward his room. ‘No, no,’ he shook his head. ‘No, I need a shower.’

‘You need to rest,’ replied Sherlock.

John did his best to drag his feet against the floor in protest. ‘No, no. I can’t. I need to shower first, please.’

‘Alright, alright,’ relented Lestrade. ‘It won’t hurt him to bathe.’

‘But my semen needs to stay in him,’ objected Sherlock. ‘That’s how it’s done, isn’t it?’

‘Fuck you, Sherlock!’ shouted John, as much as he could shout. He stood limply as they tried to decide which room to take him.

‘Ideally, yes. Right now I think it’s best that we make him comfortable, though. I’ve got him. Go draw a bath,’ said Lestrade as he reached down for John’s legs.

Swiftly John was pulled up into Lestrade’s arms as he held him. John knew he was small, but this was undignified. He tried to protest and push against Lestrade, but he ended up just holding his neck. He heard the water splashing as Sherlock filled the bathtub. 

Lestrade carried him to the tub and gently dipped him into the water.

‘Ahh, cold!’ exclaimed John. The water was steaming but tepid to John’s skin.

Sherlock had found a towel and had it wrapped around his waist. He turned up the temperature only slightly at the sign of John’s discomfort. Both men left John to soak and stepped out of the bathroom. 

Lestrade said quietly, ‘You need to stay in there with him. I’ve seen too many omegas try and kill themselves rather than submit in a heat.’

‘How soon before he has to mate again?’

Lestrade peaked through the door to keep John within view. ‘Soon. A few hours at most.’

‘He has been up for days. He needs to sleep,’ Sherlock said with a frown.

‘No doubt, but none of us are going to get much rest. He is old for his first heat. This may take longer than the average. Just go and sit with him. I need to make a few calls.’ Lestrade reached to pat Sherlock on the shoulder, realized that he was still shirtless, and thought better of it. His hand hung in the air for a moment and then dropped awkwardly. He then started off toward the kitchen.

Sherlock went back into the bathroom and saw John behind the clear curtain sitting in the tub with his hands wrapped around his legs. He reached in and turned off the flow of water.

John never looked up at him. He just stared at the wall. ‘So now you’re going to watch me?’

‘Lestrade said – ’

‘I heard what Lestrade said!’ John shouted. Then he tucked his face into his knees. ‘Really, Sherlock, I’m hurting and I really don’t want to be in the same room with you.’

Sherlock blinked and nodded. ‘Understandable. But then Lestrade needs to watch you.’

John made no response.

Sherlock stared at John for a moment longer before turning. He paused and said, ‘You are the closest friend I’ve ever had. I don’t like seeing you suffer. You may not wish to continue our relationship after this, but at least I’ll know that you are safe.’ He left the bathroom door open when he left.

‘Yeah, okay, okay. Yeah, but I’ll have to get to it later. I’ve definitely got to take off for Monday and Tuesday. Alright, just leave it on my voicemail. Yeah, bye,’ Lestrade finished his phone call as he replaced Sherlock in the bathroom. He took his sentry post next to John by sitting on the loo. He sighed as he watched John. ‘You probably don’t want to hear anything from me, but you have been very brave. It is not often that people go into heat so unprepared.’

John wiped his face with his wet hands and leaned back into the water. ‘This is all so wrong.’

Lestrade reached for one of John’s men’s health magazines next to the toilet. ‘Yeah. Not how I thought I’d spend my weekend either.’

John remembered buying that magazine when Sherlock insisted that he go out and bring home one apple of every kind at the market for comparison in the Fielding case. There was an article on prostate cancer he’d wanted to read about. It was still wrinkled up the same way in the back cover from the trip home.

When John had bought the magazine, the feature article across David Beckem’s chest was ‘The new non-treatment for prostate cancer’. Now the article read, ‘The ten best ways to induce your omega’s heat’. Someone had gone to an inordinate effort to change the papers. The news. The television. His friends. Him.

John knew that he was sick. Unequivocally sick as a dog, and not the coughing, head ache, sneezing, or runny nose kind of sick. It was a cramping and burning that started in his pelvis and worked its way up his lower back. He started having irrational thoughts of sexual scenarios with all sorts of people. He’d even dreamed about a night of passionate love-making with the queen. 

He sniffed at a lingering wetness in his nose and reached for the bar of soap; Sherlock’s favored brand. He clutched it to his chest and fought back the tide of emotion.

John was a medical doctor and a soldier. He didn’t put much credence to quantum mechanics or the supernatural as his mind was not trained to look at the theoretical or unproven. The chill of the water around him helped him to think, and right now he was thinking that maybe he wasn’t in Kansas anymore. Something had happened when he fell on Fielding’s machine.

This wasn’t his world. Not his bathroom. Not his magazine. Not his Sherlock’s bar of soap. Since when did Sherlock’s penis, anyone’s penis for that matter, form a knot. Maybe it was because it was not his Sherlock. 

Maybe not his own body.

He felt for his scar on his left shoulder. The skin was smooth and it did not hurt to push at the tissue. His right shoulder, on the other hand was tight as he reached. His right shoulder contained the purple flecks and scaring similar to scars he’d seen of healed shrapnel wounds after an explosion or grenade. He distinctly remembered the moment he leaned over PFC Patterson to protect him from enemy fire as he put pressure over the oozing, sucking chest wound of the young soldier when the enemy bullet tore through his left shoulder. He knew that Patterson did not make it, but John had no memory of a grenade exploding shrapnel into his right shoulder. He remembered the bullet wound with graphic detail, but now that hallmark scar was gone and replaced by another.

He swallowed, and he heard Lestrade turn a page in the magazine.

John had not thought much of the papers or the news about omegas and alphas and all. He had assumed that it was part of some marketing campaign for some fad or movie like the ‘Vote Harvey Dent’ stickers all over the Underground when the Batman movie came out a few years back.

He didn’t want to listen to Sherlock’s bizarre talk of heats and hormone therapy. Then three days ago, he’d stopped having an appetite, had the biggest, most cleansing dump of his life, and then he started to excrete mucus. Gobs of it at first, but as his temperature increased, the mucus turned into a viscous fluid not unlike the fluid his girlfriends produced when he used his fingers to pleasure them.

He was left with no medical reference for his symptoms and a friend who insisted he tell him who his alpha was. The irony was that he could be the first known man to traverse dimensions only to jump into the body of a biologically sexual submissive version of Dr. John Watson.

‘Are you going to wash or just turn into a prune in there?’ asked Lestrade, kindly.

Lestrade and Sherlock were his friends. He’d take a bullet for either of them, and he knew that his Lestrade and Sherlock would do the same. As frustrated as he was at them for what had just happened in the living room, if these men were anything like the Lestrade and Sherlock from his world, they were in fact trying to help him. It just was just bloody inconvenient that their help involved putting their sex organs up his bum.

He didn’t answer Lestrade but he did push the bar of soap down between his legs to wash away the slickness. The tissue was sore and puffy.

And tingling. He’d never had anal sex before. He wasn’t against it, but it had never come up before. In fact when he’d first met Sherlock, he was fairly certain that Sherlock was interested in him. He had tried to give Sherlock the in; let him know that he was available. He was back from the war, and up for anything. _Any_ physical human relationship.

 _‘You should know, John; I do consider myself married to my work,’_ Sherlock had said.

They had both left it at that until this week. 

Then John had started to feel the urges. He felt closer to Sherlock than anyone and had considered propositioning Sherlock again. But Sherlock bungled that when he asked about John’s alpha, life-partner, thing. John didn’t want to have sex with anyone else right now. Except maybe the queen. Why was that?

The water was becoming intolerably cool, but the thought of the queen again went to John’s head. And his penis. His breathing picked up, and he felt his pores open to put out a sweat.

‘You alright in there? John?’

John knew that Lestrade was talking, but he sounded far away.

Then Lestrade was standing in front of him with a towel, one of John’s old, thin army towels that he’d never taken the time to replace, not even in this reality.

‘I think it’s time to come on out now,’ said Lestrade.

The water was too cool, so John stood and took the offered towel. His legs were still weak, but they held.

Lestrade reached for him and felt his forehead. ‘Come on. Dry off and come with me.’ Lestrade ushered him back into the living room.

‘No, no, no,’ John tried to turn and leave, but Lestrade held him firmly. 

Sherlock had made a pallet of sheets and pillows on the floor. There was only one reason Sherlock would put out bedding.

‘John, listen, listen.’ Lestrade held him around his shoulders. ‘Just listen now. Your temperature is up again. We need to help you - ’

‘You want to fuck me again!’ He clutched the towel around his waist.

Sherlock was suddenly at his side too, and they both ushered him onto the pallet.

John shuddered. ‘Oh, fuck!’ He panted. Their hands on his arms were like buzzing, live wires. He could feel both of their heart beats through their palms. His heart by comparison was beating insanely fast. He could smell them both. 

Sherlock hadn’t washed and he still smelled like sex and sweat under his fresh clothes. Dust and formaldehyde and Mrs. Hudson’s fabric softener.

Lestrade smelled like faded aftershave and a long day in an office building. Printer toner, pencil shavings and a nostalgic trace of gun oil.

They got him to the pallet when his legs gave out from under him. He grabbed at their arms to keep from falling. They dropped him slowly onto the floor. 

Sherlock kept a hold on his left shoulder, and Lestrade patted him on the back.

 _I can’t! I don’t want to! I’m going to be fine! I’m sick, and_ ‘I don’t understand this,’ John was finally able to say.

‘John, we’re going to try and make this as easy as possible,’ assured Lestrade.

They helped John to lay down with his head on the pillows. John tried to keep himself upright and propped himself on his elbows. He watched as Lestrade unbuttoned his shirt and unzipped his pants. ‘Oh, bloody fuck, not you too,’ John said hoarsely.

Before long he was naked in front of John and knelling in between John’s shaking legs. 

‘Lestrade, be easy with him.’ Sherlock was still at John’s side and he squeezed John’s shoulder. ‘He’s going to be sore, so don’t – ’

‘Believe me, I know.’ Lestrade laid his cool broad body over John’s feverish one. 

It would have felt comforting if it were under different circumstances. Lestrade was broad and heavy. As a smaller man, John had tried to date women who were his size or smaller, and he was usually on top. It was a different feeling all together to be under a man nearly twice his size. He felt secure and claustrophobic at once. He winced at the feeling of Lestrade’s erection at his inner thighs.

He felt Sherlock rub his thumb on his shoulder, and Lestrade hushed him. 

‘Shh, it’ll be fine. Come on now, it gets easier every time, I promise,’ said Lestrade. He moved his face to the other side of John’s neck where he had not been bitten. Lestrade dragged his fingers down John’s body to his back and then down his ass. He breathed on John’s neck and pressed his fingers down the cleft.

John shuddered and weakly raised his leg unconsciously. As the fingers probed and prodded dryly, he buried his face into Lestrade’s shoulder.

Lestrade sighed and lifted his head. He spit into his palm and applied it to John’s rear.

Sherlock raised his eyebrow. Flashes of thought passed behind his eyes. ‘There is lubricant.’

‘My room,’ John added. He couldn’t believe that he’d just volunteered that, but there you have it. He said it. He might as well have begged for Lestrade’s cock. 

‘Top bedside drawer?’ Sherlock confirmed and was gone.

Alone with John in such an intimate position Lestrade made his attempt at small talk. ‘When you took your bath . . .’ 

John nodded against his shoulder. ‘Yeah.’ Fuck Sherlock for knowing where he kept his lube.

Sherlock was back quickly and went to his knees next to John again. ‘Here, Lestrade. There is plenty, and I’ll run out and get more if we need it. Probably best if you use a lot.’

God, it was John’s warming gel. That shit was expensive.

The tube burped as Lestrade slicked it into his palm and then onto his member. He squeezed out more, and then Lestrade’s fingers were back at his ass. His fingers felt cold, wet, and very uncomfortable.

John winced and sighed. He made a mental note not to finger anymore girlfriends so gently and creepily with cold lube.

Then the fingers went inside. John squeezed and pushed at Lestrade’s shoulder, and Sherlock put a hand on his head. Tears that John wasn’t aware were in his eyes fell down his cheeks. His face scrunched but he took several deep breathes and calmed himself.

Lestrade’s fingers warmed and that steady un-nerving arousal returned to his belly, and his panic dug a deep trench through his guts, but this time he found it easier. He was with a man he didn’t have to face every day. He was soft around the middle and not a chiseled demi-god like Sherlock.

“What was it Queen Victoria’s mother told her about her wedding night?” Lestade breathed hard.

Sherlock ignored the comment and continued his hovering at John’s head.

 _Lay back and think of England_ of course John thought. He also thought that Letrade was dragging this out more than necessary. He squeezed Lestrade’s arm.

Lestrade seemed to understand and lifted John’s knee up around his hip.

John shut his eyes tight. Lestrade’s member was pressing at his backside searching for entrance, and John panted when it found his opening. He was surprisingly receptive to the push at the ring of muscle as Lestrade penetrated him. 

There was a lot of moaning, and John didn’t realize that it was him until Lestrade shushed him, and he heard Sherlock say, ‘John, let go, you’re going to hurt him.’

He felt Sherlock grip is hand, which John had clawing into Lestrade’s bicep. Once he realized how hard he was squeezing, he let Sherlock take his hand. The skin at Lestrade’s arm was red and formed the perfect impression of John’s fingers.

Sherlock clearly wanted to hold his hand as Lestrade had, but John twisted his hand away and held high on Lestrade’s shoulder.

Lestrade was not slow. He held John with one hand at the hip and the other holding John’s knee high up on his ribs. He kept his thrusts deep and short, and it hurt each bloody time!

His anus was sore from his encounter with Sherlock just half an hour ago, and each push and pull of Lestrade’s member burned at the tiny tears in the tissue. It hurt worse in the center of his pelvis. It was unlike anything John had felt before. He could only conceptualize it as a swelling, growing heat. Like the irritating itch on the bottom of his foot, but the itch couldn’t be reached between the sock and shoe. There was no satisfying the sensation, and he let Lestrade know with an equally unsatisfied moan.

Lestrade stopped abruptly, and John thought that he had climaxed, so he surprised John when he reached under John’s legs and positioned them onto his shoulders. He pressed back in and folded John in half as he pushed deeper than before, deeper than John thought Lestrade was long. If he wasn’t careful, he might puncture John’s lung. It was the least comfortable of all the positions for John, and the ligaments and muscles in his legs and hips were pushed to their limits.

John screamed, and Lestrade practically vibrated his hips. He kept his thrusts very short, and John could feel the base of Greg’s penis swelling and pulling with every movement of Lestrade’s hips. He tried to ignore the light slap of testicles against his buttocks.

‘Please be careful, Greg. Please go easy. Lestrade?’ Sherlock’s voice was high and nervous, which was saying something because Sherlock was a few cigarette packs away from having James Earl Jones’ voice.

John winced at the realization that his best-friend was still watching. He’d grown half an erection between his belly and Lestrade’s, and it felt grand; intoxicating.

Lestrade was huffing loudly in John’s ear, and it was distracting to the other sensations. He turned his head.

Lestrade took John’s exposed neck as an offer and bit and sucked at a sizable piece of flesh above his clavicle. 

John growled, Lestrade growled, and Sherlock howled at the obscenity. He placed his hand over his mouth and held John’s other shoulder in his effort to comfort him.

Lestrade squeezed John tightly as he came and quickly pulled John’s legs back down around his own hips.

John’s diaphragm worked hard to pump his lungs with the air for which his body was desperate. Nerves screamed from his muscles, up his spinal column and to his brain. The sudden movement of his legs made John feel as though fire were burning through his hips. His fatigued muscles trembled as John tried to keep his legs from flopping to the floor.

The pain in his legs was second to the unnatural pressure inside of him, which seemed to continue to grow. ‘Ow, ouch, ow, Greg! Ow!’ He writhed to escape the unforgiving pressure inside his body just above his tailbone. ‘Stop it! Please!’

Greg finally lifted his head off of John’s neck, which sent another shock of pain though John’s senses as the flesh between Lestrade’s teeth was released.

‘Shh, just bear it, John. Come on, now the hard part is over. Shh, you’re fine.’ Greg pressed his lips to John’s cheek and the unmarred part of his neck under his chin.

Sherlock offered John his hand again, and John took it and squeezed all of his agony into the embrace.

‘Fucking hurts!!!’ John moaned.

‘Ow, John, no, no, don’t. Don’t squeeze. Be still, relax. Relax, now. Oh, John, easy. I know it hurts, but you have to relax. Ease up now.’ Lestrade panted.

John was not just squeezing Sherlock’s hand. He couldn’t help the reflex to clench around Lestrade’s painfully thick knot. Lestrade’s member twitched, and John clenched again but he tried to remain conscious of it and relax. He endured what he could but he cried out. His eyes watered. One leg thrashed.

‘Just try and breathe, John,’ Sherlock advised. ‘Come now, you’ve had worse in the army. Greg, bite him. Do something. It’s too much for him.’

Lestrade pushed his face between John’s shoulder and chin and found the sore spot on John’s neck from where he’d bitten him before. This time he nipped and sucked at the bruise, and John hushed a little.

Lestrade jerked and came a second time, and John twitched at the distinct pulse of heat deep inside of him.

John moaned and pulled his arms away from Sherlock. He squeezed them around Lestrade’s larger ribcage. The closer he was to him and the more Lestrade bit at his neck, the easier the pain of the knot became. His hand darted up Greg’s back and neck, and the fine, damp hairs on the back of his head nipped at John’s fingertips. 

Lestrade wiped at the tears on his check and kissed and nipped at his jaw and ear. He held John tight and came again a few minutes later.

This time it felt more like a spasm and not a strong ejaculation to John. He could feel Lestrade’s pubic hairs dig into his backside; the inspector was pressed so deeply into him. He could also feel the knot waning as his inner walls felt the decrease in pressure. John panted and clenched at Lestrade’s member instinctively with the change. 

Lestrade’s breathing hitched, and he came dryly for the final time and he cried out his discomfort. Within minutes he slipped out of John and pulled away from him.

John was still taut and tense on the blankets with no sense of how long his ordeal had lasted. He felt alone and exposed. He held back a cry.

Sherlock was quick to wipe him down with a fresh wet cloth. The cloth was cool and stung John’s oversensitive skin.

Lestrade was above John and he appeared sweaty and exhausted. ‘You alright there, John?’

John was distracted by Lestrade’s question when he felt someone slip two fingers inside his very slick and swollen backside. He pushed himself up on his arms and tried to swat away Sherlock who was between his legs again.

Lestrade held his arms and reassured him, ‘Relax, relax. Just give him a moment, John. He’s got to check to see if there are any tears or bruising.’

‘Stop, stop, stop! No, leave it, stop, please, just don’t!’ John protested with an utterly hoarse voice.

Sherlock explored him with two fingers before pulling his digits out and wiping the fluids from John with his wet cloth.

‘He’s fine. You’re fine John,’ said Sherlock, quickly.

Past exhaustion, John fell onto his back and panted. His voice cracked as he said, ‘I could’ve told you that. Just leave it.’

Sherlock ignored him and continued to wipe away whatever sweat or fluids his cloth found.

Lestrade released his hold on John’s arms. ‘Sherlock?’ asked Lestrade as if he knew there was more Sherlock was not saying.

‘He’s accepted you. He’s been receptive.’

Lestrade wiped sweat from his brow with his wrist and nodded. ‘Good. That’s excellent. We’re getting somewhere then.’

‘We should let him rest now,’ said Sherlock.

‘Certainly. I think we should let him sleep on a bed, though. His body needs as little extra stress as possible. You too, Sherlock,’ ordered Lestrade.

‘I’ll be fine. I’ve neglected several projects and I need – ’

‘No, John needs you,’ objected Lestrade. ‘If he’s been receptive to me, he’ll need you next. If I’m with him consecutively, he’s more likely to bond with me. John is going to need you in a few hours, and it’s critical that I’m not the only scent he smells while he sleeps.’

John very much did not like the idea of being with Sherlock. He was boney, he didn’t smell right, he was too tall, his hair was wrong, his voice was wrong. He wanted Greg. Broad shouldered, larger than life, silver-haired Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade. He ached to have Greg between his legs again, and Sherlock kept touching him with that cold, wet cloth, _damn it!_

 _I want a say in this, too! Don’t I get a choice?_ John thought clearly, but all he could muster to say was, ‘Greg?’

‘You tired?’ asked Lestrade.

John nodded.

Lestrade moved to pull John into his arms.

John, protested, ‘No! . . . can walk . . . and,’ he swallowed, ‘. . . no.’ He pushed himself off of the floor with his arms and attempted to roll onto his stomach.

‘John, you must let us help you,’ urged Greg. He frowned as he watched John, flushed and shaking, tried to push himself up off of the floor. ‘You must understand,’ he put his hand on John’s shoulder, ‘your body is focusing all of its resources on your heat. Your muscles are too weak. John, you cannot walk on your own.’

One of John’s eyebrows rose at his incredulity. Yet, his legs would not bend when he asked them to.

‘Let us help you. Sherlock?’

Both Sherlock and Lestrade helped John to stand on weak legs and hobble to his bed.

‘Towel,’ John was able to express, and Sherlock placed the thin army towel under John’s arse as to keep the bedding from spoiling as much as possible. 

John fell asleep almost instantly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the event that your filthy mind isn't filthy enough already, here is a link that might help to illustrate sizes and shapes and stuff. NSFW by any means. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Zeta_toy_MMB_01.jpg


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd in the least, sorry.
> 
> Many, many, many thanks to you folks who commented. Thank you. Thanks for the kudo's!!!! Seems everyone reads their fics at 3 am and the alerts to my phone are ... punctual.

John woke to an unnatural and unsettling feeling of something against his abdomen. He finally opened his eyes and found Greg pressed against him.

The very warm body lying next to John was a great comfort, but Lestrade was wearing a shirt, and the material grated on John’s skin. He pushed up at the front of the shirt.

This woke Greg, and his reached for John’s hands with his own. ‘Shh, what’s wrong?’

John pressed his naked body into the warmth and perfect scent and discovered that Greg was also wearing boxers. He whimpered and pushed the fabric every which way.

‘Alright, alright,’ said Greg. Lestrade pulled the shirt over his head but he did not remove his boxers. 

‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ asked Sherlock.

John pressed his skin into Lestrade’s warm flesh. Once he’d heard Sherlock’s voice, he realized that he and Greg were not alone in the bed. He turned and kept his back flushed to Lestrade, which availed him to look at who was on the other side of the bed.

Sherlock’s eyes shined in the dark and focused directly on John Watson. ‘Are you alright? Are you feeling alright, John?’

Sherlock’s words were fuzzy in John’s ears. He pressed his body against the soft heat of Greg. He turned onto his other side, cat-like, and pushed at Greg’s underwear.

Greg caught John’s hands and pinned them gently on John’s belly.

John’s head swirled at Greg’s show of dominance, and he arched his back.

‘God, you’re burning up,’ gasped Lestrade.

John whimpered as Greg reached his hand down John’s body and between his legs.

‘Sherlock,’ Greg said definitively. ‘He’s – he needs you now, Sherlock.’

The bed shifted as Sherlock abruptly stood and switched on a lamp. He pulled the sheet back from John.

John writhed, and his skin glistened with sweat. 

‘He needs water. I’ll be back,’ Greg said and stood from the bed as well. He disappeared out of the room, and John was left naked and alone on the bed.

Sherlock stared down at the feverish man.

John whimpered, ‘Greg? Wait, don’t go.’ He rolled onto his stomach and attempted to slide off of the bed.

‘Just wait, John. He’ll be back.’ Sherlock put up his hand to urge John to stay in the bed.

‘Greg!’ John was obviously trying to shout, but his voice didn’t have any strength. He continued to pull himself across the bed toward the door.

‘John, stop. He’ll be back. Please stay put.’ Sherlock placed the blanket between himself and John as a barrier. 

‘Greg?’ John mewled.

‘Stop, stop! John, just stay there.’ Finally Sherlock was forced to push John at his shoulder. ‘Greg?!’ he shouted.

‘ _Bloody hell!_ ’ Lestrade shouted. He returned from the kitchen sink with a lager glass full of water. ‘Can’t bloody get a glass,’ he muttered. ‘John, here, take a few sips.’ Lestrade placed himself between Sherlock and John on the bed. ‘Here, John, you need to sit up. Sit up now, John.’ Greg urged John to sit upright and pressed the glass into John’s hands. He watched Sherlock’s lips twitch. ‘Sherlock? You alright?’

Sherlock’s voice was unsteady. ‘He – he wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t stay . . . ’ he sighed heavily. ‘Just, please help him. He’s feverish.’

John sucked down the water and gave Lestrade a longing look. ‘Greg?’

Lestrade took the empty glass from John and set it on the table next to the lamp. He felt John’s forehead with his inner wrist. ‘John, do you think you can stay siting up?’

John grunted, leaned into Greg’s touch and sat up onto his knees.

Greg kneeled back onto the bed in front of John. 

John nearly collapsed into Greg’s arms. 

‘John, no sit up. Get up, John,’ instructed Lestrade. Greg looked to Sherlock and gestured that Sherlock should get back into the bed.

Sherlock pushed his thin pajama pants down and stood naked before John.

John stared at Sherlock’s form. He blinked finally and gripped Greg’s shoulders and tucked his face into Greg’s cool skin. ‘Greg, please. Please can’t you do it again?’ They were definitely going to fuck him, and he’d much rather it be Greg. _Obviously!_

The bed rocked as Sherlock kneeled on the mattress.

Sherlock’s proximity made John’s skin crawl. He could feel Sherlock’s eyes on him.

‘Greg?’ pleaded John.

‘I will, I will. I promise,’ Greg assured. He wrapped his hands around John’s chest to help steady him.

Icy hands gripped John’s hips from behind.

Any muscle control John was able to muster disappeared as both men gripped him. He growled into Greg’s shoulder and he started to pant. He lost control of his legs and wobbled.

Sherlock held him.

‘Fuck, Greg, please just you, kay? Please? I’ll do this. I’ll do this all you want, but just you, Greg. Greg?’ pleaded Watson.

John’s pleads pulled at Greg’s heart, but he could not allow himself to bond with John. He knew from a lifetime of experience that John was feeling desperate to cement their blooming bond, but Greg could not allow it no matter how perfect John’s scent seemed, not if he wanted to respect John’s free will.

He held John’s face in his palm and rubbed his thumb at John’s temple, one of the many pressure points for an omega in a heat.

‘Shh, John, I know. Believe me. I will be with you all you want. I will, I promise. Just as soon as you are with Sherlock. He has to – John?’

John had tucked his head down and pressed it into Greg’s chest.

‘Come on, now, John. You’ll do fine,’ Greg assured.

Hands and long fingers gripped at John’s backside, and John wrapped his arms around Lestrade’s waist.

Greg held John and kept him upright and still as Sherlock aligned himself and pressed into John.

Watson gasped and squeezed at Lestrade’s middle. He remained quiet, but Lestrade knew that John was trying hard to be brave and stay quiet at his request. ‘You’re doing great. You’re fine, you’re fine.’

John took a shuddering breath.

Lestrade was so focus on John’s breathing that he didn’t notice Sherlock until he backed away from John.

‘He’s fine, Sherlock. I’ve got him.’

Sherlock blinked several times. ‘I, ah. I don’t think that I . . .’

Lestrade had made it his top priority to not see Sherlock’s penis through this whole ordeal, but he was clutching himself and that drew Lestrade’s attention.

‘I can’t seem to, ah,’ whispered Sherlock.

Lestrade rolled his eyes. He never thought of Sherlock as a sexual person, but he also never considered the man as a having difficulty with impotence. In fact, it was nearly unheard of for a healthy adult to keep from becoming aroused around an omega in throws of a heat.

That was unless the omega was bonded and in imminent proximity to his mate.

The best remedy would have been for Greg to leave the room, the flat even, but his absence from John would substantially increase the risk that John would then form a permanent bond with Sherlock.

Sherlock breathed hard as he tried to solve his problem with his hands. 

John shuddered in Greg’s arms and leaned ever more into his chest. 

Lestrade pushed John away to an appropriate distance. ‘Scent him,’ he told Sherlock. ‘Take him, hold him and scent him.’ 

Greg pushed John back and away until he lost his balance and was forced to lean into Sherlock’s chest to remain upright.

He wavered against Sherlock for an interminable moment as Sherlock seemed to consider if he should touch him or not.

Finally hands surrounded his shoulders, dipped down over his chest and down. The tickle of an inhaling nose and slightly stubbled chin made John turn his head away. His neck exposed, Sherlock pressed his face into the curve of white skin.

The longer Sherlock kept his nose and chin and eyelashes and eyebrows and, _God!_ , his lips fluttering over the sensitive flesh, the more he found that his hips were pressing back into Sherlock’s, and his head turned even more to invite Sherlock’s embrace.

A tongue and then lips, then _teeth_ took their evaluation of John’s tender and very receptive neck.

Sherlock’s hands continued down John’s abdomen to his belly and hips. The right hand snaked further and grasped his inner thigh. 

John’s stomach fluttered and his head swirled with dizzying arousal. His ass actively sought Sherlock’s crotch. It found indistinguishable skin, which retreated from him as soon as he pressed against it.

Sherlock’s deep inhale pulled at the tiny hairs of John’s neck. He shuddered and nearly collapsed into Sherlock.

Sherlock held him upright and he bit John hard enough to bruise the muscle.

John moaned and his member instantly swelled. He grunted and moaned. He thought embarrassedly that he sounded more like an animal than a man, let alone a well-educated army doctor.

His hands reached for Sherlock. One found the back of Sherlock’s head and it pulled Sherlock deeper into his neck. The other found the sharp point of Sherlock’s hip bone.

Sherlock released his bite and continued. His tongue and nose drew pathways along his shoulder and neck that mirrored the trails his fingertips ghosted over John’s chest, belly, and thighs.

John shuddered but he forced himself to remain still as not to be rebuffed by Sherlock’s spidery hands. He tried to keep his eyes focused on Greg, but every time Sherlock inhaled and licked at his flesh, his eyelids fluttered closed and his pelvis swirled with a stronger arousal than he thought humanly possible. The wetness between his checks actively spread. He ached. He bloody _ached_ to be taken again.

Sherlock finalized his oral evaluation with another possessive bite on John’s neck. He continued to suck at it as his hands gripped firmly at John’s belly.

John gasped at the sudden tight grip of Sherlock’s arms and quite painful bite. His fingers twisted in Sherlock’s hair.

Sherlock jerked John’s hip back and pinned his very firm erection against John’s backside. One hand kept a tight grip at John’s hip bone as another hand swept down between John’s cheeks. Fingers swirled and penetrated.

John’s eyelids flashed open, and he instinctively reached for Greg. ‘Ah, fuck!’ He squeezed Greg’s shoulders.

Greg took John’s clawing hands into his own and squeezed them back. He gave a slight smile that utterly confused John.

Cold checks and hot lips pushed against John’s neck at his hairline and nipped sporadically. 

Hands positioned John’s hips, and the firm rod of flesh pressed against John’s opening. It remained there, as though hesitant, and John bent forward against Greg submissively. The motionless press of Sherlock’s member against his hole was maddening.

Frustrated at the arousal he was experiencing at a cock that was not Greg’s, John moaned, ‘Fuck me.’ Once he said it, John instantly heard it as the invitation that Sherlock must have interpreted it as.

John’s backside was incredibly slick, and Sherlock slide into him unimpeded. John furiously grasped at Greg’s chest.

 _Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!_ John tried to hide his face and he choked on a swallowed cry.

Greg lifted John’s face. ‘You’re alright, you’re fine.’

Sherlock squeezed his arms around John and groaned into his shoulder. Slowly, he pushed all the way inside.

The intrusion of another man’s flesh inside of John’s body burned.

Sherlock did not move.

John panted. Any arousal that Sherlock had encouraged was quickly being replaced by more rational thoughts. This was his friend, flat mate, the irritating prat who refused to pick up milk or tea. He was putting his dick into John. ‘Greg, Greg, please! I can’t do this!’ _Fuck! Fuck!_ He could feel Sherlock panting behind him too.

‘You’re fine, John. You’re doing fine,’ Greg tried to assure him.

 _No I’m not!_ ‘I can’t, I can’t!’ John reached for Greg and tried to push Sherlock’s tight arms off of him.

‘Sherlock, come on. Take him. You need to move, Sherlock,’ commanded Greg.

John whimpered, frustrated. He flushed with a hot sweat. He could sense the erection inside of him waning and slowly going flaccid. Somehow it felt more irritating and uncomfortable than when Sherlock first penetrated him. Greg and Sherlock were both far stronger than him. He pushed weakly at all the hands holding him in place.

Sherlock continued to pant and squeeze at John, but he did not move. 

‘You’re making this harder on John. You need to move already!’

John leaned his hips forward trying to pull away from Sherlock.

Greg quickly stopped him and held his hips still. ‘Damn it, Sherlock! Keep scenting him, and move!’

Between Greg and Sherlock’s touch, John was overwhelmed with sensation, and he couldn’t bare the counter instincts to pull away from Sherlock’s intrusion and push away Greg’s urging hands for him to stay still for Sherlock. He cried out.

Sherlock growled at the back of John’s head, ‘I can’t! John, I’m so sorry!’

‘Alright, alright, John listen to me,’ Greg urged. ‘You’ve got to help us with this. You’ve started to,’ he pulled John’s face up, ‘listen, listen to me.’

John grunted and looked away.

Greg continued, ‘You’ve begun to bond with me. That’s supposed to happen. That’s what we want, but you have to help us start that process with Sherlock too. We are trying to help you keep from bonding to an individual. That means you have to start that connection with Sherlock too. When your heat breaks, you won’t be imprinted to either of us if you can just help us.’

‘I don’t want to do this with Sherlock!’ John could feel an instant reaction from Sherlock at his words.

Sherlock became ridged and held John at a distance.

‘Bloody fuck, we don’t have time for this,’ Greg growled angrily. Once again, he commanded, ‘Sherlock, fucking move!’ He pressed at John’s shoulder and hip and forced him back against Sherlock. He kept one hand on John’s hip and the other reached for John’s penis.

Dry hands pulled awkwardly at John’s member. He gasped and continued to try and push away the arms holding him into place. He was nearly falling onto Sherlock, and Greg kept pushing. 

‘Bloody fuck, just take him!’ growled Lestrade. He pulled rapidly at John’s flagging erection.

It hurt, so John grabbed Greg’s hand to slow him down. He held the other arm that kept pushing him onto Sherlock. 

Greg pushed his face against John’s check and whispered, ‘Come on now, John, you can do this. You can do this. Relax.’ He swept both hands to press firmly at John’s hips. ‘Open your hips for him and relax.’ 

Greg’s low voice lulled John into conformity.

Sherlock’s erection was still in question, and John tried to ease onto it. It wasn’t easy to work in a limp dick, and John had no experience to draw upon.

Greg gathered John’s equally fledgling member.

John sighed and interceded at the touch. ‘I-I can do it. Oh, god,’ he moaned mournfully. Greg’s hand on his member hurt and produced an acidic sensation in his stomach. He panted even as he tried to maintain his breathing. He cupped his member with one hand, more to block Lestrade than to bring himself to full hardness.

Greg shifted on the bed upsetting John’s balance again. He pressed John’s knees slightly apart, and Sherlock filled in the space between John’s legs with his own.

John sat squarely on Sherlock’s lap and his quads burned with the effort of keeping his full weight from resting on Sherlock.

Even the slight movement of trying to stay balanced with all of Greg’s pushing caused subtle friction of Sherlock’s member inside him. He could feel it hardening again and he shivered.

Sherlock was breathing hard on the back of his neck and he was shaking with little tremors. His right hand snaked over John’s side and to the hand that John held over his member.

‘John?’ Sherlock’s questioning hand slipped under John’s palm and gripped his member.

John shuddered, and blood quickly drained from his head to his arousal. The sensation of Sherlock filling him, all be it against his express wishes, and being held so intimately in his hand . . . to feel and smell his hot breath on his neck . . .

‘Just breath. You’re doing fine, just try . . . and . . . keep . . .’

Greg was saying something, but John really didn’t give a shit. He was focusing on Sherlock’s heart beating against his spine. As Sherlock exhaled, John breathed it into his mouth and tried to taste hours old scent of the cup of black tea that was the last thing Sherlock had to drink or eat.

Sherlock kept his hold on John’s member, but he did not dare to do anything more than keep it firmly in his large hand. He could readily sense John relaxing and easing evermore onto his member. He squeezed John’s shoulder with his left hand. ‘Ah, ah, I’m, I think I’m knotting.’ He swallowed dryly and tucked his face into the back of John.

‘Are you all the way in? Shit! Shit! John, get on him, now!’ ordered Greg. He pushed at John’s hips.

John resisted and cried out at Greg’s interference.

‘Stop! Please?’ Sherlock’s voice shuddered. ‘God, it’s too late. I’ve already started to knot. I can’t, Greg, don’t!’

‘Sherlock, damn it, he can’t handle a rejection right now. You’ve got to knot him now,’ shouted Lestrade. ‘You’ve got to be in him!’

Sherlock was breathless as he replied, ‘No, no, he is too tight. He can’t, Greg, please. Don’t, don’t push him.’

‘John, you’ve got to get all the way on him, now!’

Greg’s pushing did little but upset John’s balance again. He could feel that Sherlock was regaining some rigidity, but he was in as far as their bodies would allow.

John clawed at Greg’s shoulders as he kept pushing him. He was slick but Sherlock couldn’t penetrate him entirely. The swell of flesh at Sherlock’s base was too thick to slip inside of John.

Greg did not appear to understand and continued to force John back and down onto an unwavering protuberance. ‘Sherlock, push! Now!’

John registered the change in his vision before the pain made its presence known to his brain. Sherlock had jerked behind him, dark speckles danced in front of John’s eyes, and he realized that something felt very wrong in his backside. The pressure from Sherlock’s knot entering him was so intense that John was only able to acknowledge that something larger than he could accommodate had been forced passed his sphincter before the spots of darkness enveloped him entirely.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was getting bloody pissed that my favorite stories weren’t being updated or finished. I was blinking funny and refreshing my webpage compulsively until I realized that folks had been going out of their way to remind me to update this fic. I’d rather be reading fic! Let someone else sacrifice computer games and petting the puppy to write porn. I killed the puppy with a stupidly long walk, so here is the fic typed out with letters from BOTH sides of the keyboard.

John was first aware of his struggle to draw a deep breathe with his diaphragm pushing deeply into his gut. This also made him aware of the pressure at his lower gut.

A hand was pressing at his hip bone, and a hot mouth was huffing erratic breaths against his neck.

‘God damn it, Greg, he wasn’t ready,’ Sherlock growled behind John.

The pain had eased considerably, though his sphincter throbbed around the pressure with every beat of his heart. John attributed his blackout to a sudden drop in blood pressure and exhaustion. Had he eaten anything more substantial than tea and crisps in the past three days, he was certain that he would have vomited right at that moment. He also decided that he would feel considerably better if he could have made a mess on Sherlock’s fancy queen sized mattress.

His head swirled with the disorientation. The room had shifted, and it took John longer than it should have to recognize that Sherlock and he were lying horizontally on the bed. He attempted to make out the window across the room, but in his current haze, John couldn’t keep anything in focus. The room blurred into colors and shapes, so he resigned to keep his eyes closed tightly.

Sherlock did not ease John’s nerves. Had they been at hospital, John would have put him on oxygen.

Ever the paragon of physical control, Sherlock was trembling violently even as he held John in a fierce grip. His respirations were far too rapid to be effective, and the banging of Sherlock’s heartbeat against John’s back was damned unhealthy.

‘Christ, is he alright?’ Sherlock sounded exceedingly worried. 

Not one to be overshadowed when it came to dramatics, John moaned and grasped at the bedding to announce his slow awareness into consciousness.

‘God, John, are you alright? John, talk to me! Sh-shit, please?’

It wasn’t like Sherlock to reference religious words, John thought. He involuntarily squeezed hard around Sherlock’s member. He felt rather than heard Sherlock wince and hold his breath at John’s pressure.

Sherlock reached out his long arm and took one of John’s grasping hands in his.

John squeezed it and used the long, violinist fingers to anchor himself to Sherlock’s room surrounding him. Sherlock’s bed beneath him. Sherlock’s hand squeezing back at his. Sherlock’s breath heavy at the back of his head. Sherlock’s sweaty body pressed so hard against his back. Sherlock’s penis mutated into a form that swelled at the base and locked inside his body.

John screamed. His previously lax body contorted in a sudden spasm of undirected muscle contractions, and though Sherlock struggled to maintain the press of their bodies, John pulled away from the knot and cried out at the rude pain at his backside.

Greg had been trying to keep his distance since he’d assisted Sherlock’s successful knotting. He stood at a distance from Sherlock’s bed and had allowed the coupling to continue naturally without any more of his ‘God damned interference’ as Sherlock had phrased it while John was passed out beneath him. 

John’s renewed distress put a definite end to his distance. He rushed to John and knelt at the side of the bed. ‘Hey, hey, John relax! Relax! Breath, John, calm down. Easy now,’ he urged and continued a litany of calming words. He took the other hand that Sherlock was not desperately squeezing and pressed at John’s shoulder. ‘Come on now. Just, you know what? Just take a deep breath. Come on, take a big deep breath in . . . ’

John ignored Greg’s stupid attempts to talk him down. ‘Stop! I want to stop! Please, please, please. Bollox!’ He burned everywhere.

‘I know, I know,’ soothed Lestrade. ‘How’s it coming, Sherlock?’

Sherlock was panting behind John’s head. He felt a slight shake of Sherlock’s negative response.

‘Sherlock, you have got to bite him,’ Lestrade instructed.

‘No, no, no,’ John implored though he was aware that his protests were useless. He moaned.

Sherlock pressed his lips just behind John’s ear. His skin was cool against John’s feverish neck.

‘Don’t, Sherlock. Please don’t bite me.’

He whispered so low in John’s ear that John was sure that Lestrade couldn’t hear. ‘John, I’m so sorry for this.’

‘John, your heat is trying to compensate for years of suppressant use. Your body is dangerously flooded with hormones. You’ve _got_ to successfully mate,’ Lestrade was explaining. 

Meanwhile, Sherlock’s mouth was drawing across the topography of John’s shoulder and neck. Lips ghosted over hair, a tongue tasted the salt and pheromones ebbing from pores, and finally teeth found the already tender muscle between neck and shoulder.

John frowned at the squeeze of pain Sherlock’s teeth caused, but his hips drew back towards Sherlock seemingly of their own volition. He squeezed both Sherlock’s and Lestrade’s hands. He moaned and realized that Lestrade was saying something again.

‘Most first couplings never even knot. Successful knotting can take a dozen attempts. John we didn’t have time to work up to anything, and I’m so sorry for that. You will feel so much better when Sherlock releases inside you.’ Lestrade swiped his thumb against the back of John’s hand as he held it. ‘We’re doing this because we care about you. Sherlock is shite for manners, but he is a damned good friend. All you’ve gotta do is relax and encourage his climax.’

Sherlock was still buried in John’s neck and he could feel John bristle at Lestrade’s last words.

Nevertheless, Lestrade’s free hand roamed up John’s thigh to his backside.

Sherlock growled a warning at Lestrade’s dangerous proximity, and the deep sound reverberated down John’s spine.

Lestrade pulled and pushed at his buttocks, and John squeezed reflexively. Sherlock gave another pleased growl and bit a little harder.

The knot hurt at his ring of too-stretched muscle, and John gasped and squeezed hands and arse reflexively.

Sherlock thrust his hips minutely and he moved smoothly through John’s slick orifice.

God, Sherlock was so hard inside of him. All of the blood vessels inside of John’s pelvis seemed to swell. He was quickly losing any sensations of pain as adrenaline and endorphins coursed through his frantic nervous system. He grew a sympathetic erection; rather he convinced himself that his hardening penis was due to the stimulation rather than bloody arousal. He moaned. His heart beat pounded into every inch of his fevered flesh, and Sherlock thrust with the pacing of the second hand on the wall of Sherlock’s bedroom. ‘Please’ _go fasterhardermoremore_.

Lestrade spread his fingers before squeezing the flesh of John’s backside. He pushed and pulled, and John continued to squeeze at Sherlock’s knot instinctively.

Sherlock’s breathing canted, and he pulled John flush against him. ‘Jo – ah!’ Finally Sherlock released inside of John.

He shouldn’t be able to, but John was so super sensitive that he could feel the jet of fluid being ejected into his bowels.

‘There you are, there you are,’ Lestrade soothed. He removed his hand from John’s bottom and brushed the back of his fingers against John’s cheek. 

Sherlock struggled to find the proper site at John’s neck to keep biting through his orgasm.

John mewled and quickly felt the ache and burn of his fevered skin become replaced with a glowing hum of over-sensitized contentment. The wet bed linens beneath him, Sherlock’s sweat slicked skin behind him, and the nipping teeth at his neck felt no less than divine. 

_This must be what it’s like after drinking ambrosia._

All said and done, the bits where his friends held him down and shoved their mutant penises into his anus might in fact have been worth what John was feeling right now. Like morphine and cocaine and leaving the pub at closing time with a beautiful, intelligent woman with her arms wrapped around him.

John reached for his penis and tugged. He needed only seconds before he was spilling across the already soiled sheets. He convulsed rhythmically around Sherlock’s member.

Sherlock dug his face into the back of John’s head and neck groaned with his second release.

John closed his eyes and tucked his hands under his chin. He sighed as Sherlock’s hand roamed down his side and up across his stomach and his chest.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock remained knotted inside John even after a quarter of an hour by the clock in Sherlock’s bedroom. John was the calmest Lestrade had seen him since his heat, bugger that; this was the calmest he’d ever seen the ex-military man.

Sherlock was taking the care of a doting mother cat, and he stroked his hands up and down John’s body and kept scenting at John’s neck and pressing his lips to the back of his head.

Greg took his opportunity to call Mycroft. His thumbs weren’t steady enough right now to text, and Mycroft always preferred a phone call from him. He slipped down the stairs, and it wasn’t half a ring before Mycroft answered, _‘How’s it going?’_ in a tone that was slightly sarcastic and slightly concerned.

‘They are both doing better each time. Bit of a hiccup earlier, but Sherlock is doing splendid right now. I need supplies.’ Greg searched the wreck of the living room for his trousers if not his underwear.

_‘I know. I’ve got a man at your door with a care package already. Was there something specific you needed?’_

‘Please just tell me you’ve packed a plug for John.’

_‘Indeed, a few in various sizes and some protein drinks to keep you all alive.’_

Lestrade closed his eyes and thanked Mycroft’s omnipresence.

‘I’d prefer a lager and a steak sandwich.’

_‘I’ll treat you to dinner when this is over. Perhaps something meaty to replace all of that lost protein. For now, I believe what I’ve provided will suit your needs if not your pallet.’_

Lestrade could hear Mycroft’s smile over the phone, and they ended the call. He set the coffee table back on its legs and retrieved his pants. Next to his shirt he spotted a string of keys spilling out of Sherlock’s coat. Apparently Sherlock kept them in a secret compartment inside the lining, and Greg retrieved them before he peaked in on John and Sherlock.

‘Sherlock, your knot hurts. It still hurts.’ John moaned breathlessly.

‘Sorry, sorry. It’s going down; I can feel it. I’m going to bite you again, and that should help until then.’ Sherlock pulled John close to his hips and buried his teeth in John’s neck.

Lestrade slipped away and padded all the way down the bare-wood staircase. He shook his head at Sherlock’s elaborate set of locks and latches, and it took him several minutes before he was able to open the door. He was hit by a burst of cool fresh air if the air in London could be called fresh. He breathed deeply and felt energized by the clearing of his senses.

A box wrapped in brown paper sat on the first step. He read the small white card attached to it aloud, ‘221B Baker St. Best Wishes – M’.

He took one final breath and tucked the package under his arm before returning inside Sherlock’s fortress. He returned each lock and latch and pounced up the stairs to the sitting room. John’s spicy, musky scent was heavier up there, and Lestrade smiled as he also detected the obvious scent of John’s satisfaction.

He tore off the paper and removed the lid from the box. Inside was another paper card that read ‘I thought I’d provide one of each to help him work his way up, as it were.’ Beneath the card was another wrapped package. Lestrade opened it and found that it contained several plugs and knotting dildos of various lengths, widths, and colors. He instantly picked the small, yellow plug that looked the least intimidating for John. There was a small, unassuming gel dildo with a snow-flake symbol on the package, and he made a note to freeze it for later use.

Beside that package was a cooler with fruit, fortified energy drinks and calorie replacement shakes. He opened a shake and drank it immediately; he hadn’t realized how starved he felt until the cool liquid lined his stomach. _God, I need to lose weight,_ he lamented. His endurance was not what it once was.

Keening and moaning from the other room stopped Lestrade from rummaging further through Mycroft’s box of party favors. He took the yellow plug and went back to Sherlock’s bedroom.

He found Sherlock still wrapped around John, but his fingers were pressed deeply inside John. 

‘I’ve got you, John. I won’t leave you,’ Sherlock assured John. He was holding one of John’s legs over his shoulder and had John’s hips elevated on a pillow.

John was laying supine, as much as he could with Sherlock between his legs, and was digging his head and face into the sheets and moaning, ‘Let it be. It hurts!’

Sherlock moved with John and stayed flush against him. ‘Please, John, it’s got to stay inside. You’ve got to keep my release inside of you.’

‘Alright, alright. Everybody calm down. Sherlock, leave him be,’ ordered Lestrade. Sherlock gave Lestrade an untrustworthy look, and Lestrade insisted, ‘Come on now, leave him be. Lestrade held up the yellow plug and began unwrapping it from its sealed container.

Sherlock finally eased each finger one at a time from John’s hole and untangled himself from John’s leg. He made sure that John was laying with his pelvis elevated on the pillow before inching away from him.

John breathed easier and relaxed a little. He looked up at Lestrade.

‘He’s right, John. If you keep his release inside, you’re symptoms won’t be near so strong. Here, now this will help with the pain of the knots and keep the fluids where they need to be.’ Lestrade held the plug for John’s viewing.

John felt wet and sticky all over, and he could feel Sherlock’s said (copious) fluids slowly sliding between his ass checks to the pillow. It was damned unnatural to produce so much semen, and he considered it yet more evidence that he was in surrounds that were _not_ his own.

At John’s apparent reluctance, Lestrate kneeled on the bed and explained, ‘It will really help to stretch you. You’re too tight for the knot, even Sherlock’s fledgling knot.’

‘It’s already bigger than yours,’ retorted Sherlock. He remained nude, and his thighs and groin glistened with John and his shared fluids.

Lestrade tried to blur the image of Sherlock’s knot from his mind and turned back to John. ‘I’ll help you with it. Turn on your belly.’

John frowned. ‘Greg, please, I’m really sore. I can’t – I can’t take anything else right now.’

‘John, we are far from over, and Sherlock is still growing. His knot will continue to swell a bit bigger each time until he has reached his full potential. I promise you’ll feel better for it in the end.’

John kept his frown but rolled slowly away from Greg and Sherlock. Lestrade eased John’s top leg forward at the knee before he pressed the tip of the inoffensive phallus into John’s shining, wet anus. He whined minutely but bore against the press of the silicon as Lestrade pushed. A quick ‘ah’ and Greg waited for John to sigh his readiness and pressed again and again, slowly until John was able to take the plug passed the flared base.

Sherlock sat on the precipice of leaning toward John for every whimper and leaning away each time John signed his ease.

It was driving Lestrade to irritation and he loudly declared to John, ‘Okay, on your back. You shouldn’t need to be taken again so soon. It’ll keep you prepped for the next time.’

‘I know how anal plugs work,’ John said, thoroughly irritated. He eased onto his back and tried to stretch out on the bed. The bed linens were in various stages of wet, wrinkled, and sticky. He wanted nothing more than to pass out into a deep sleep, but the soiled bedding was distracting and uncomfortable. ‘’m so tired.’ His eye lids felt like they were weighted down with lead, but he writhed to the far side of the bed in an attempt to find a dry spot. His own musky scent mixed with Sherlock’s in the sheets was overpowering.

‘Sher, fetch us some fresh linens,’ said Lestrade as he sat on the corner of the large bed and looked down at Watson.

Sherlock was slow to slink off of the bed.

‘Bloody move already. He’s not going to burst into spontaneous combustion if you aren’t in the room. Go, Sherlock. And bring a couple of wet and dry towels while you’re at it,’ Greg continued.

Despite the detective inspector’s urging, Holmes continued to stare down at John’s sprawled form on the bed.

Suddenly self-conscious at the intense, studying gaze of his flat-mate, Watson pulled a sheet over his hips in an attempt to hide his genitals. ‘Be nice to get clean.’ 

Sherlock sighed deeply and ran a hand through his hair. Finally he left the room by backing out of the room but kept his eyes fixed on John.

Once out of the room, Lestrade stood quickly and slammed the door shut.

Finally Watson exhaled a held breath. He pulled the sheet higher over his body and relaxed his shoulders onto the mattress.

‘It’s the hormones, John, he’s just trying to - ’

‘I came,’ John interrupted. His hands flew to his face and covered his indignity.

Lestrade reached and squeezed Watson’s knee over the sheet. ‘It happens to everyone.’


End file.
